


Atom Smasher

by cosmotronic



Series: Abraxo [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Dark, Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 21:36:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9626627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmotronic/pseuds/cosmotronic
Summary: It will be important at the end, when they come to take her measure.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Very minor **warning** for canon-typical violence.
> 
> Not actually a sequel, no need to read part one to understand part two. Thematically they fit, that's about it.
> 
> Comments and feedback always welcome.

They shot first. Important she remember that.

Walked far and walked alone, a way off from the centre, semi-circular and drifting and then she saw the glow, yellow-green and sick over the horizon.

Heard the click next, then the click click, then the clickclickclickclickclick. A warning disregarded.

Thought she detected wailing above the wind; crying, or maybe far-off laughter. Had forgotten what laughter sounded like when it wasn't hollow and mocking, or whether there was such a thing any more.

Brushed away the dust from her arms, her face, rubbed grit into her eyes. Felt the contamination diffusing into her skin, her meat, her bones, rusting her soul.

The ground was sludge, treacle black and sucking around her steps. Trudged on toward the glow, the wailing. Didn’t know why but she was drawn there, a compulsion like a mirage, like if she turned around or went away or considered her path the world would shatter. Knew if she faltered she would miss the call like she missed the thrum of her heart, the hum of her conscience.

Stopped and saw the eyes, peeking above a ridge close and high. Stared at the eyes. Let them stare back, void and hollow, huge above concave cheeks in a small, filthy face. The boy wore brown sackcloth, feet bare to kiss the earth as he ran, mosquito quick and she followed, slower in boots and armoured weight.

The rise was steep, the crater deep and at the top she paused to catch a breath. Saw it in the centre, surrounded by the ramshackles of their lives, a beacon risen up from the muck, a church of mud and unfulfilled purpose.

A bomb. The Bomb. Unexploded, it leaked green sickness and yellow death. It sang, metronome steady, to the beat of her click.

A circle of bodies surrounded it. Some stood, some knelt, others slept in their leaking and pathetic sties of wood and corrugated steel, clustered in ones and twos and threes. They stared at their idol, blinked, turned as one to face her. Stared at more eyes in white faces, brown faces, skin blistered and weeping, hair scraggled and lank and slithering off in clumps.

The wailing had stopped, petered out as the boy ran into scrawny arms, arms clasped and nine fingers twitched into the sackcloth. The boy and a woman, drawn in close in fear. Others twitched fingers about others, five and ten and less or more, curious and unsure. Others twitched alone at the edges of the circle, harder, firmer, defensive and wary.

Counted their fingers too, clutched tight about pistols and shotguns and other slaves of metal and powder; they were many and she was few. Counted the bullets in her gun, twenty-four plus one.

A man stood, slave in his arms screaming her name. There was a halo of crimson and bone, sprayed out as the man fell. He fell back down again, arms stretched out as though that could stop his crumple. The man was dead before he crashed into the dirty water, splashed brown and green to mix with the red, and that was that.

There was a second of stillness, stretched out beyond the moment. Saw the silence in their gaping lips, their gumless mouths formed the shapes of yellow confusion and black fear and red red rage.

There was a roar, the moment dragged back and then the wailing had started anew; hectic, frantic, hypnotic, a tic in time and a twitch in space as bodies spun and danced the ragdoll to her rat tat tat tat tat, twirled to the click, finale on a splash.

A lash caressed her cheek, blinding hot and stinging cruel. A drill to her thigh, boring deep and gushing thick, blood spurted to lie slick on the water.

Dropped to a knee, unsteady, and touched the bomb, didn't realise she had gotten so close. Bodies laid in rings about it, robbed of their will. Electrons captured about a core of dense proton and heavy neutron. In the heart of it, alone, and vast empty nothing between them.

There was nothing for her there, now. Nothing then and nothing now. Collected her scattered atoms, pushed the blood back into her leg and sat, and saw.

All of the atoms, here for her counting. One. The atom. Children of the Atom. Children. Men and women. People, remnants like flies around corruption. Flies around corpses. Corpses at worship. Worship the lord. Lord of yellow and metal and cracked open science. Lord of death. Lord of flies. Lord of love and life. Out here at the edge of the world, at the end of time. His Children. They found rapture. Salvation. Only them.

How dare they.

Forgiveness. Gave them hers.

They shot first. Important she tell herself that.

**Author's Note:**

> Still just playing around with my broken little survivor and my word, this girl is fucked up.
> 
> Written whilst zoning out to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xTBGly43-EQ).


End file.
